


Next

by Medie



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Community: picfor1000, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her admission is a foregone conclusion</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://community.livejournal.com/picfor1000/profile)[**picfor1000**](http://community.livejournal.com/picfor1000/) and only a week late. go me! No, better yet, go [](http://mtgat.livejournal.com/profile)[**mtgat**](http://mtgat.livejournal.com/) for her epic (and I do mean EPIC) beta skills!! My picture is [here](http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j267/ca_me/Medie/198973389_c6a05fe2f9.jpg)

Her admission is a foregone conclusion, but she hesitates anyway. Maybe it's _why_. There are a lot of things in her life that frustrate Demora. The replicator's stubborn resistance to her attempts at reprogramming the parental restrictions, the way Earth's gravity tugs at her steps those first few weeks in San Francisco, and a thousand other stupid little bits of nonsense evoking a stormy temperament that would have Commander T'Kai raising a bemused brow (for nothing confused the sunny-haired Vulcan quite so much as her captain's only child) in response.

Or, perhaps, have her quietly pointing out the truth behind Demora's frustration.

"I want it to be my choice," she announces to an empty apartment. The sun is just beginning to rise over San Francisco, tinging the sky with soft rose, and she's studying. A mug of Vulcan tea (the blend a parting gift from T'Kai) sits steaming before her and there's a PADD on her lap. It's the perfect morning and Demora hates every second of it.

She's not used to San Francisco yet. Not used to Earth at all. She's spent a handful of time on planet since she was six, when her parents split up and she left Seoul for the _Excelsior_ with her father. Demora's never liked planets, not really, and being here feels confining. She can't feel the world beneath her feet, judge the motion of the ship and the speed thrumming through its metal bones, swallowed as it is by concrete and dirt.

The idea of staying here for years, even for the Academy, is difficult to imagine. Her mother's gone, shipped out on a science vessel bound for the Deltan system, out of communication and, obviously, transport range.

Not that distance means anything; she can imagine what her mother's response would be. Whatever attraction had brought her parents together, Demora knows a shared love of Starfleet wasn't it. The idea of her baby girl living on a Starfleet vessel had caused one battle, the news of Demora's intentions would probably cause another.

Looking out at the sky, Demora reaches for her tea and contemplates the PADD and the application on it. The only thing left is a sponsor's signature and getting that will be easier than the acceptance itself. Thousands of cadets would practically kill to be in her shoes, with living legends a comm call away.

She knows she has standing offers from Aunt Nyota and Uncle Pavel both, Christine and Janice too, and she knows that neither the Ambassador nor Captain Kirk would hesitate. None of them would.

That's the hardest part of all.

"It's too easy," she says, later at the cafe, staring glumly at her lunch. "I could just show up and they'd throw a party."

She's not expecting the answer of a soft snort anymore than she is the dryly said, "You might want to reconsider that assumption, young lady. You might be daddy's little girl, but Starfleet Command's not interested in your pedigree."

Demora blinks and Leonard McCoy grins at her over his iced tea. "You heard me," he says. "It'll make a good story for the news feeds all right. They'll make lots of noise about generations and torch passing, but that's not going to mean a tinker's damn on the Romulan border and if you think the Orions'll give the name Sulu a second glance, you're sadly mistaken. About the only place it'd do you any good is Qo'noS and that's assuming you keep the Gagh down."

She laughs, despite herself. "I don't want to be treated any differently because―" she waves a hand at the people around them. Most aren't watching, either not caring or not recognizing Leonard McCoy, but she can see a few furtive looks. "On the _Excelsior_ it was different. I was the captain's daughter and the ship brat, but here―"

"Here'll be no different after a while," he says, leaning in. "Ask Joanna. You think they went easier on her at Starfleet Medical because I'm her daddy?"

Demora shakes her head. "No." She has talked to Joanna. She knows. "But it's not them I'm worried about. What if they let me in because of my father, and I can't―" She slumps in her chair.

"And that's the scary part, ain't it?" he asks. "What happens if you don't measure up?"

"I want to fly," she admits almost to herself. "It'd be easier if I wanted to do something else."

"Probably," Uncle Len nods. "And it'd bore the hell out of you inside of five minutes." He winks. "Don't try and tell me it isn't. I've patched up the both of you more than once. There's about one place in the universe you belong, young lady, and sitting around this dusty old rock isn't it. Besides, I'm still hoping you and Jo pull the same posting. Someone's got to keep an eye on my girl."

"Try the other way around," Demora says, laughing. "I know I sound ridiculous, Uncle Len, but I want this to be my choice. I want people to look at me and see me, not Hikaru Sulu." She's not her father. She's never going to helm an _Enterprise_ or ride off and save the universe from Klingons and superbeings, or rewrite history with Captain Kirk. She's just not. "I don't know how to be him."

"Neither did your father. I don't know what the stories say, truth is most of the time I don't care to know, but I remember those days. They don't train you for the things we went through. Most days we pulled it out of our asses and hoped for the best."

Demora pushes a tomato around the plate. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Nothing simple about this decision for any of us."

"I don't know what to do."

"Finish your lunch."

"That's not an answer."

"No, but it's a start." He winks. "That's the best I can do."

"Not quite." Demora says, "There's something I need you to sign."


End file.
